Six Impossible Things
by Ellie 5192
Summary: "Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." Written for the CloserFest 2014, Prompt 95: "andy/sharon - first there was the wedding, then there was the ballet and andy's still not sure if any of them were dates".


_Written for the CloserFest 2014, Prompt 95: "andy/sharon - first there was the wedding, then there was the ballet and andy's still not sure if any of them were dates". Also a pre-emptive little piece before Nicole shows up. _

**Six Impossible Things**

When he was a small boy, his mother used to read him story books. (Not that exciting, many children had story time when they were little.) But he never really took on board many of those parables; if he had, maybe life would have gone differently for him. Big Bad Wolf, maybe some Hansel and Gretel, he certainly should have paid attention to all the Dickens she made him pour through. (A certain someone would laugh if they knew he read A Tale of Two Cities from cover to cover.) But the one thing he does remember – the line that stayed with him all these years - was from Through the Looking Glass.

_Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast._

Mainly he remembered thinking that book was all nonsense and rubbish, except for that one line that never left him alone. In meetings, when other men would say they couldn't stay from the bottle, that it was impossible, the line would creep through his subconscious. (You can do it.) When his ex-wife told him the kids wouldn't speak to him, he ignored her and reached out anyway. (Do the right thing.) When he thought he'd never see another promotion with a disciplinary jacket like his, he found Lieutenant to be a good fit. (Surprisingly easy, in the end, and he has no aspiration to go further.)

Six impossible things before breakfast. Never seemed so bad before.

Well, today he thought about one impossible thing before breakfast, and that's more than enough.

He's pretty sure he's dating the boss.

Not in the conventional way, of course, because if this was conventional he wouldn't be confused about their relationship. If this was conventional, he would have asked her to dinner instead of accepting her offer to buffer his own daughter's wedding. If this were conventional, that second dinner wouldn't have been a demand before the ballet show. He would have chosen a restaurant to impress her, and taken her to a play, or maybe a museum, and he would have picked her up, spent the evening charming her with a smile, and then dropped her home with the hope of a kiss. If he had done it right, he would have been rewarded with one, too.

If he'd done it right, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.

And it's not that he wouldn't like to date her. Thinking on it for only a moment, of course he'd love to date her, who wouldn't. She's beautiful, and smart, and charming, and there's a free spirit to her when she's not ensconced in her Captain's suit and sitting prim behind her desk. She's more frivolous, light-hearted, funny in her interactions. It's a side made all the sweeter for having known her professionally all these years. (There's a reason he took her with him to the ballet, and it had little to do with her legs, although they are lovely.) The stark contrast between that night and the woman he thought he'd known all these years made him blink, rethink, reassess every conversation they'd ever had. (Had he known, even then, that he would one day be smitten with her?)

It's not that he doesn't like the idea. He just has no idea where they stand, and that's suddenly very confusing.

He'd watched her at the wedding, speaking politely to his ex so he didn't have to; charming Nicole with her innocent tales of his mischief. She always toed the party line, painted him as the lovable rouge and not the monster he'd once been at the bottom of a bottle. She had made him look good, and that was something he never would have asked, never expected, and appreciated beyond measure. Everyone had loved her, and had accepted him because of it. He'd danced with Nicole with tears in his eyes. She had watched on with a smile. (He had brought her as a friend.)

So it was only natural that he invited her to the ballet too. It seemed completely reasonable, given she'd already met everyone, and she genuinely did have a vested interest in ballet. (He knows she was a dancer in her youth, much as she refuses to say it. He knows.)

He should feel ashamed that he hadn't explained himself to Nicole. He should feel bad for misleading everyone with his lies of omission. He never claimed to be the bigger person. And he knows it's going to blow up in his face, but he doesn't care, because Nicole loves her, and his ex tolerates her, and that's more than he can say for a lot of his own years interacting with his family.

But two family functions later – relatively intimate affairs when he thinks about it – and he's not sure what to call what it is they are doing. She's like he's left arm at these events – the back-up, and the support, and the one by his side that he doesn't think about until he asks her to attend and she says yes. She's his handbag, for lack of a better term. And she's happy in that role. And he gets the impression that maybe suggesting anything more would knock her off kilter because she genuinely wants to help him, and they enjoy each other's company, and technically she's still married, and why shouldn't friends accompany each other. It's perfectly fine.

Except now he kind of thinks they might be dating. Sort of. Almost.

It certainly feels like dating, from the outside – the dinners, the fancy party dresses, his daughter inviting Sharon over for lunches. (He had politely declined on her behalf without telling her. Why would he do that?)

It's not that he's against them dating. He's just not sure that they are. He knows his family sure thinks that they are, but then that's the logical conclusion to draw and it's not like he actually said anything, they just assumed. And it's impossible anyway; she set her boundaries loud and clear, and it's not like he really though through the implications of sleeping with the boss. (But he's thought about it? What is that about?)

But he thinks they might be dating, all the same. And it may be that the next time he asks her out to dinner, it's for the pleasure of her company and not for appearances. If he ever guns up the courage to actually say it.

He can't even pinpoint if he's attracted to her or if he just likes the idea that a classy woman such as herself would be seen in public with him. (Such a unique brand of delusion.) He knows he likes her as a person, and would count her as a friend. He knows that working with her these last few years, as opposed to against her, has shown facets he never would have guessed. She has proven to be a remarkable person. And if she didn't want to spend time with him, there are a million polite ways she could have turned down his advances. (She offered that first time. She volunteered. Maybe he's still in shock from that.)

So it might be impossible, and maybe he's seeing smoke and screaming fire. But he likes her. And he likes that people think they're dating. And he likes that maybe they are dating after all. (In their weird little way. Far be it for them to do anything normal.) He just hopes it doesn't blow up in his face.

And if he thinks really hard and angles his head the right way, it doesn't seem so impossible. It actually seems kind of nice. (Better than nice.)


End file.
